


Tricks

by notmyyacht



Series: Nevada & His Precious Penguin [1]
Category: Gotham (TV), Trouble in the Heights (2011)
Genre: AU where Penguin worked for Nevada Ramirez, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Crossover Pairings, Established Relationship, M/M, Manipulation, Possessive Nevada, Violence, don't touch Nevada's stuff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-18
Updated: 2016-11-18
Packaged: 2018-08-31 15:52:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 988
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8584444
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notmyyacht/pseuds/notmyyacht
Summary: Big shock that Oswald got in way over his head again. Luckily this time he's got Nevada to make everything better.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Another Nevada/Oswald crackfic I wrote a long time ago and just now decided to upload. I did originally post this on tumblr, so if you're familiar with my fic and this looks familiar, that's why. But I cleaned up some of the grammar and added a few things and now I'm actually a bit more happy with it now.
> 
> Hope you like! :D

Oswald stood on the corner, arms wrapped around himself and waiting for Nevada to pick him up. It was pouring out and Oswald looked like a drowned rat with his hair matted to his forehead.

The black car finally pulled up to the curb. The window rolled down and Oswald squinted to see inside. There was Nevada in the back seat, all warm and cozy and dry. He eyed Oswald's drenched appearance, noting the bruise forming on Oswald's cheek and the dark red stain washing out on his collar.

"Where the fuck is your stupid umbrella?" said Nevada. Oswald's nose wrinkled.

"Some lowlife snapped it in two."

Nevada's jaw subtly clenched; it was a small sign that the beginnings of his rage were bubbling under the surface, ready to explode. Oswald had to keep from smirking at Nevada's possessiveness over him. It was something of a nuisance when they first began… whatever this was, but it had since become rather amusing and easy to tap into when Oswald wanted something.

"And that?" Nevada pointed at Oswald's purple cheek.

"Same lowlife."

Nevada nodded and turned to the thug sitting in the seat beside him. He mumbled something in Spanish to him, then turned back to Oswald, who unhappily was still stuck out in the rain. Nevada opened the door and scooted over.

"Get in."

Oswald was already swinging his leg into the car. Nevada eyed the water dripping onto the leather seats, but made no comment. "Where is he?"

"The dry cleaners. Down the street. I was missing one of my jackets and he said that I must be _mistaken_ ," Oswald said, practically spitting the end of his sentence. "When I insisted that he was the one who was wrong, they dragged me outside and started beating me!"

Nevada ordered his driver to go to the specified dry cleaner's. A moment later, they were there.

"Let's have a nice talk with these folks, shall we?" Nevada smirked, motioning for Oswald to get out of the car. He and one of his thugs follow.

"Fuckin’ hate the rain," he mumbled as they walk up to the door.

Nevada entered the establishment first, Oswald on his tail, Nev's thug bringing up the rear. The place was empty save for two people who worked there; the manager, a frail 60-year-old man, and his son, a big 20-something year old with a crew cut. The son immediately made eye contact with Oswald and raised a dirty sausage-like finger.

"Didn't I tell you to get out, ya fuckin' little pipsqueak!" he bellowed.

Oswald glared at the big bully, but physically let himself shrink behind Nevada, who was clenching his jaw again.

The manager, much calmer in his approach, said, "I see this man has returned with some friends. But as I said to him then, no one has stolen anything."

"Are you sure about that?" said Nevada in his too-friendly tone Oswald had seen him use to get protection money out of store owners. "Because my friend here tells a different story."

"Yeah, that's right!" Oswald squeaked. "I brought two Italian silk-lapel suits here and when I got them back, one of them was missing a blazer. When I confronted him," he pointed at the son, "he told me I was lying. He said to drop it... or drop to my knees and maybe it'll show up."

Both the son and Nevada reacted immediately.

"I-I never said that! I didn't fuckin’ say that!" the son frantically yelled, glancing from Oswald to his father to Nevada, then back to Oswald. Nevada's brow furrowed as he turned his head to Oswald.

"You failed to mention that last part earlier,” he said, narrowing his eyes.

"I didn't want you to get jealous." Oswald added a trembling lip for emphasis.

Nevada bit the inside of his cheek. He knew Oswald, and was getting to know his tricks. Oswald knew exactly what buttons to push. Somehow, that was even more of a turn-on. At this point, Nevada didn’t care if it was true or not. He was already pissed that the manager's son had the _gall_ to beat _his pingüino precioso_ , but now just the mere thought of the ugly brute laying his hands on Oswald sexually was enough to warrant a searing desire to burn the establishment to the ground. He wouldn't -mostly because this was Fish Mooney’s territory- but he could do the next best thing.

 Nevada locked eyes with the manager's son, a malicious smile played at the corner of his mouth.

A few minutes later, all of them were outside in the alley beside the dry cleaning establishment. Nevada's thug held a new umbrella over Oswald's head as they watched.

The manager was curled into a ball, whimpering, and clutching his stomach. His son was in worse shape, with his head bleeding and a tooth missing. Nevada held him by the wrist, his foot between the brute's shoulder blades.

"Wait! Stop! Plea-"

Nevada sharply tugged. The loud crack made Oswald jump. The son screamed in agony. Nevada smiled down at him, his chest heaving. Oswald watched his every movement, his pants starting to feel tight. Nevada landed a solid, final kick to the son's side and the brute emitted a strained cry and slumped.

Nevada looked up, his gaze meeting Oswald's. Oswald smiled at him, pleased. Nevada sauntered over to him and pulled him in for a sloppy, possessive kiss. His teeth caught Oswald’s bottom lip that he quickly soothed over with his tongue. Nevada pressed his hand downward and stroked Oswald through his pants. Nevada’s other hand held firm onto him by the back of the head, fingers buried in black hair.

Oswald felt dizzy and horny. Fish trading him to Nevada for a single block of territory was the best thing that could have happened, he decided.

"C'mon, _precioso_ ," said Nevada, his voice low and husky, "let's get your suits and go home."


End file.
